


Behind Every Champion

by orphan_account



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, But also Queen of Kindness, F/M, Humor, Kestrel Hawke Battle-Hardened Badass, RIP Bethany, Sad Leandra
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-15
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-05-14 04:36:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5729743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kestrel Hawke is recruiting a rag tag group of adventurers for an expedition into the deep roads.  All are welcome, if they can stand up in a fight, but she is not close friends with all of them.  She quickly is at odds with Fenris,  but they eventually agree to disagree and take on bigger problems.  All the while, Kestrel copes with the loss of her dear sister and father, and finds comfort in the Warden-apostate Anders.  Soon enough, a responsibility is given to her that she does not want, but carries nonetheless with the help and support of her companions. This fan fiction begins at Fenris' recruitment, end point unknown.  I may not update at regular intervals.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Run away

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for deciding to read this! I really appreciate any input you can give me, I hope you enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So um.... there aren't any tabs. I know, I know, it makes it harder to read, but my computer is being difficult and I can honestly say I tried.

All Hawke could hear was ringing. The flash grenade had stunned her and left her useless to her companions. Not a desirable thing to happen when in a battle against a group of slavers. The mongrels had not missed the opportunity to take her down, apparently, because Hawke could fell a burst of pain in her left leg and she grit her teeth. They were playing dirty. Damn them, she thought, if they want to play with fire, they’ll burn. Though, at the moment, she was indisposed.  
Slowly, she got to her feet and immediately favored her right side. Her vision started to clear from the flash and Hawke looked about the scene for her staff. Aveline was surrounded by brutish warriors and was easily cutting them down with precise strikes. Hawke continued to scan the area and her eyes fell upon Varric, the surly dwarf, and his inanimate bride, Bianca. Off to the side they were, and steadily accumulating a list of head shots. Carver stood to Hawke’s side and they siblings made eye contact. Carver was breathing heavily.  
Then, his eyes grew grew wide as he shouted, “Kestrel! Behind you!” Hawke ducked and swept a leg beneath the rouge behind her. As the man fell, she procured a shaft of lightning that skewered him. He sputtered and went limp. Immediately, more were upon her and the mage created a shield about her self and they dissipated. In her shell, she formulated a plan of attack. She would cast a gravitational ring on the courtyard where they fought. Then, as they were drawn slowly to the middle, Hawke would rain down upon them flame and lightning, for they were beyond count.  
The shield grew weak and Hawke released the spell after quaffing a health potion. She muttered an invocation and a blue light was cast upon all that were there. The slavers looked about and their eyes fell on the force mage before them. As they were pulled to the center, Hawke gathered her remaining mana and unleashed a tide of elemental rage on the poor souls. Fire fell from the sky and scattered them, and when they were prone, lightning fried them. Kestrel quelled the storm and stumbled. She felt the weight of herself relived from her injured legs and she was eased to the ground by her dear friend, Aveline. She was weak, her leg was still oozing blood and her mana was greatly depleted, for she had not recovered it from the last encounter.  
“Mana…,” she managed weakly. Varric hurried forward and grabbed Hawke’s bag. He handed the lyrium potion to Kestrel and she guzzled it down. Her limbs tingled with magic and she rose. Once more, she scanned the courtyard for her father’s staff, and walked to pick it up.  
“You stole my kill,” Carver grumbled at her, “I had it covered you know.” Carver often found himself outshone by his older sister.  
Hawke blinked, “My apologies?” Carver grimaced and turned to look for items of use among the bodies.  
When they had finished, the group headed for the stairs when another slaver ran around through the alley. “Lieu—,” he stopped and his eyes grew wide. He shook and fell down the stairs at Hawke’s feet. She looked up and saw a man standing above, looking them over. His fine features were spattered with blood. Hawke noticed his silver hair and deep green eyes that reminded her of the Brecilian forest in Ferelden. He wore dangerous looking armor, but no shoes, and bore a sword of equal ferocity. Marks graced his body and faintly glowed, even as he held a human heart in his palm.  
He dropped the organ, his (pointed) ears flattened as he approached them, not bothering to replace his great sword on his back.  
Noticing the gesture, Hawke said cheekily,”You know, if we wanted you dead, it would be so.”  
“One cannot be ill-prepared,” the elf said in a throaty voice as he sauntered forward. He saw the dead slavers and then looked to the group. “And it would seem you are not. My apologies for the secrecy. If I had requested aid myself, I’d have found myself counted among the deceased.”  
Hawke raised an eyebrow, “I still know not the name of you who asked for my help.”  
The elf regarded her coldly and looked away. Almost as if for someone. “You may call me Fenris,” His eyes met hers once more and his lips twitched.  
“And what grudge do you bear these slavers that you would have another do your work?” Hawke questioned him bluntly.  
Varric choked and muttered to Hawke under his breath, “Uh, Hawke… perhaps you missed the part where her ripped a man’s heart out?”  
Hawke glanced at him through the corner of her eye and returned to the elf before her. He was on edge, she noted, he stood on his toes and his hands were poised to kill at any moment. Kestrel remained calm and raised her eyebrows at him.  
“Well?” she inquired.  
Fenris shook his head and eyed her angrily, “It was not I that instigated this attack. I was defending my self,” he growled. His hands balled into fists and his markings flashed with blue light.  
“Defending?” Hawke asked and she leveled her gaze at him, “Or evading?” After a moment of tension, she laughed. “In either case, sir, I have no grievance. Slavers are a plague on Thedas that must be eradicated.” He visibly relaxed and she continued, “But what deed did you do that brings their wrath upon you with such fervor?”  
He did not betray any feelings. “Nothing I have done has warranted such chase. My master — former master— has given me something he wants back,” he lifted his hand and the marks glowed. “The reason I left.” The marks, he meant.  
“You mean, besides the whole slave thing, right?” Varric chimed in and Hawke allowed herself a chuckle. But it ended quickly.  
“You jest? Another being has revealed something of himself that has left him with physical as well as emotional scarring, and you laugh?” he viciously bellowed. Hawke knitted her brow.  
“My apologies on behalf of myself and the dwarf,” she apologized. “It is in his nature to make merry of dire times.” Hawke eyed him for a reaction. When none came, she said, “These marks, I gather they were not a gift given in the traditional manner,” she paced, “you know, bows and pretty wrapping.”  
He did not move. Though he said, “Marks? No. They are scars, wounds, a curse. They are not a gift in any traditional sense, outside of Tevinter. And even there, I was one of few.”  
“In what manner were they… forced… upon you?” She eyed him with curiosity.  
“They are lyrium. Burned into my skin by my master, whom I seek to kill and put an end to this endless chase,” he said, relaxing bit by bit.  
Hawke laughed mirthlessly, “Slavers…” she growled to herself. In Ferelden, and all of Thedas, for that matter, the Tevinter Slavers blighted the lands. First, one or two people from a village went missing, always the young women and strong men. Or, an elf or two would disappear and their clan would search the land for them. Then, people would vanish in greater in greater numbers until entire villages were wiped out, as though a disease had disposed of them all. Kestrel returned from her thoughts and said,  
“They do not value life. Those… scars, they are a waste of a handsome elf.” She did not mean it flirtatiously, but nonetheless, he blushed and cleared his throat.  
Hatching a plan in her head, she said to the newcomer, “I have a proposition. My companions and I, primarily the dwarf, are planning an expedition into the deep roads. On which someone of your skill will, undoubtedly be useful,” she eyed him. Then continued, “I would not ask such a favor of someone without granting them a favor.” Before Fenris could open his mouth she finalized her ramblings by saying, “If I assist you in the search and destruction of your master, will you agree to help me on this expedition?”  
The elf was quiet for a few moments as he pondered her words. Then, he cocked his head, “Only if it is I who destroys him.”  
The side of Hawke’s mouth quirked upward and she thrust out her hand to him, “Then we have reached an accord.”  
Fenris eyed her hand and finally shook it with his own, “It would seem so.”  
Carver audibly sighed, “Lovely, welcome to our crew of outcasts and misfits,” he muttered sarcastically, “It would seem that my dear sister is simply asking for trouble.”  
Hawke rolled her eyes and said over her shoulder, “Oh, Carver. I am trouble.” Hawke walked up the stairs and stopped at the top. “Well, I certainly know not where you intend to find your master.”  
“I found a note on a guard. He is here, in Kirkwall. He has taken up residence in an abandoned mansion in Hightown,” Fenris supplied. He was strangely excited.  
Hawke regarded her companions cooly and put a hand on her hip, “Lead the way.”  
And so, they ventured through the dark streets of Lowtown. More than once encountering a straggling group of mercenaries or thugs. Hawke noted the elf’s fluidity in battle. Despite wielding a massive sword, Fenris moved with the grace of an Orleanian dancer. Each swing hit its mark and crippled the target.  
As they neared the mansion in which Fenris’s master was hiding, Hawke noticed shifting in the shadows about them. After a long while she finally stopped and yelled into the shadows, “You business would be better dealt with in the light. Emerge from the shadows!”  
She did not draw a weapon, but Varric slid Bianca from her spot on his back. When nothing moved, she muttered, “Bloody muggers.” They continued on and finally reached the spot in Hightown.  
“Be wary. There could be any number of things in store,” Fenris warned them as he drew the sword from his back. Hawke heard Aveline do the same. They slipped inside the decrepit door and snuck through the entry corridor.  
Any hopes of stealth were quashed when the elf bellowed, “Can you hear me, Danarius? I’ve come for you!” Hawke flinched and her fist started to glow with flame.  
“Are you mad? If want to kill this magister we want to get as close as possible without tipping him off!” Hawke scolded in an angry whisper.  
Fenris glared back at her and snarled, “I’ve waited too long to care.”  
Hawke sighed and continued through the house until they reached the main foyer and all hell broke loose. Several shades popped up and slithered toward them. Hawke conjured her staff and placed paralysis wards about the floor. A gravitational ring appeared as well and the demons slowed. Then, Hawke summoned an ice storm that doused the flames encompassing the rage demons. As she whispered the words to her next spell, a mage appeared next to her dressed in Tevinter robes. The butt of her staff met his abdomen and left a gaping hole through which blood began to pour. Hawke sent lightning energy through her staff and the man seized and fell to the floor, dead.  
Hawke looked around the room. Varric was cornered by a few shades, nothing he couldn't handle. Aveline and Fenris were slowly working their way to the top of the stairs. Hawke repositioned herself at their base and summoned a firestorm and took out most of the remaining assailants.  
“Varric!” Hawke called.  
“Coming, dear!” he called in reply. He threw a bottle containing bright orange liquid into the fray. It turned a deep black color and began to smoke when it broke on the stone floor, and then the demons began to shriek. The fumes swirled around them and Hawke could see where the gas came in contact with flesh, the skin bubbled and blistered. Acid flasks. Nasty business, those were. The creatures melted to the floor and Varric, with a arm over his face and hood drawn about the exposed skin on his head, stepped through the cloud.  
Once the last of the foes were vanquished, they continued to the top of the stairs and entered the room in which Danarius was suspected to be. He was gone.  
The elf quivered with rage. “Coward,” he breathed and turned to face Kestrel,” I suspect you’ll want to take the valuables… you are welcome to them. Forgive me, I’ll… be outside.”  
The four companions scoured the remains of the dead beings and stowed them in their packs.  
“Well, it would seem that we have an angry elf to deal with,” Aveline said.  
Kestrel nodded and added to herself, Yes, angry and….. NOPE I can’t go there.  
“Come on,” she said. And they followed her out of the mansion where Fenris stood, brooding. Carver walked down the steps beside his sister and regarded the elf with contempt.  
After a tension-filled moment, Fenris said, “I did not know you were a mage. Had I, I would not have asked for your assistance,” he sounded cruel and harsh.  
Carver jumped to her defense, “Watch your words when addressing my sister!”  
Kestrel jumped and put a hand on her brother’s shoulder to calm him. Then, she addressed the elf, “Elaborate.”  
“I apologize for sounding ungrateful. That is the… last thing I’m feeling. I just have a general mistrust of mages and the like.”  
“Why?” Hawke asked.  
“Why not? All mages have done for me is enslave and scar me. How can anyone be trusted with kind of power? And you, what do you intend to accomplish with your magic,” he spit.  
Hawke sobered and looked him in the eyes, “I want to make sure that no one has such a fragmented life as I have led. My father is dead, my sister is dead, my mother is racked in grief… Carver and I are all that remains. Not one person should be as migrant as we have been, until now… home was a wagon and a few chests of goodies. Bethany and I learned what we could from our father, but… she still died. Do not presume to tell me about the dangers of magic because it left my family in pieces.” Kestrel grew quiet. Fenris stared at her intently.  
He nodded and turned toward the door, “If you need me, you will find me here.”  
Kestrel turned on her heel. She stormed away and Varric called after her, “ Hawke! where are you going?” His short legs could not carry him nearly fast enough.  
“Hanged man,” she slowed so the dwarf could reach her side, “I need to forget a few things.”


	2. Drink You Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke Tries to forget a few things and renews an unhealthy family tradition.

“You never talk much about Bethany,” Varric said as they walked through Hightown to reach the tavern known as the Hanged Man.  
Carver called to him from behind, “She was my twin. The best of us,” he took a short breath, “It’s funny… as poor as we were, she always gave, wether it was of herself or happiness or…”  
“She was a gift. Are you in, Aveline?” Hawke asked.  
“Ah… no. I have morning duty tomorrow and would prefer to have a clear head.”  
They kept walking without Aveline, whatever bandits were there didn't bother approaching. Lowtown was eerily silent, but the air surrounding Hawke crackled with electricity. The hurt of Bethany’s loss tore a gash through her family. Her mother was grief stricken and could barely speak without crying. He uncle was imbecilic and generally unfeeling. Plus, Carver and Kestrel seldom agreed on anything.  
Hawke stood in front of the door to the Hanged Man, fists clenched. But she opened the door. Isabella was at the bar and was showing the signs of her drunkenness… well, more so than usual. The women saw each other across the room and the sultry pirate joined their group.  
“Hawkes! I was beginning to think that I would be drinking alone, tonight!” Isabella purred.  
“Yeah, first round is on me,” Hawke signaled the bartender and he brought them a bottle of whiskey and four glasses. Hawke poured the liquor into the glasses and had a hefty amount for herself.  
. . . . . . . . .

“Hawke talk to us,” Varric said as she took the first gulp of her second bottle. She had been uncharacteristically quiet all night— probably because she’d had a mouth full of alcohol. she swallowed and eyed her equally broody brother, “You want to take this one?”  
Carver was young and therefore a lightweight. So in answer, he slurred, “Didn’t she tell you? It’s Hawke family tradition to marinate our broken hearts in liquor!”  
“Couldn’t have said it better myself little brother!” Kestrel bellowed.  
“Okay, this is unhealthy!” Varric said.  
“AHHhhhhhhh….. Varric you’re overreacting. My liver is immune!”  
“I meant emotionally, Hawke!” the dwarf was often like a father to her and Carver. The siblings avoided eye contact at all costs, much like with Malcolm, in years past.  
So, Isabella chimed in, “Look, as much as I’ve tried, you can’t drown your sorrows, they know how to swim,” she said, “I’m all for drinking tonight, but we are not going to be mopey and quiet like this.”  
Kestrel smiled and said to her friends, “Thank you,” she sighed, “but I’m gonna call it a night.”  
“Hawke—,” Varric started.  
“Relax. I’m going to go see Anders for the hangover I’m going to have… sometime… in the morning?”  
“Uh huh. I’m going with you,” said Isabella with masked concern.  
“Stay,” Kestrel demanded. She pointed her finger at the pirate and a spark flew from its tip, “If anyone tries anything, they won’t see sunrise.”  
Before they could protest she sauntered out the door and toward Darktown to see Anders. Kestrel laughed to herself and thought of what Bethany would be saying to her.  
Probably something along the lines of: Sister, you aren't going for a hangover cure, are you? No. She was not. She didn’t know it herself yet, but Hawke sought a different kind of comfort. As much as she loved Isabella, Varric, and Carver, magic had no direct role in their lives. Not physically, though she saw a clue to a glint on that front. No, the comfort she sought was emotional. Anders was a mage, and this common ground was the basis of the deeper understanding between them. If ever she was troubled, as she was now, she could count on Anders to extend the hands of sympathy (or empathy) and a shoulder to cry on without question.  
The doors crept up on her and she found herself standing there. A dim light crawled under it. Kestrel knocked and she heard a shuffle inside. The door opened a crack and then opened further; the light was a shock to her after meandering through darktown. She squinted.  
“Hawke?” Anders muttered, “What are you— do you know how late it is?” But then his groggy eyes saw her puffy ones and the runny, smudged mascara framing them. He sighed and motioned for her to come inside.  
Kestrel sat heavily at the table and put her head down, “You missed a party tonight!”  
“Oh?” he said as he put a cup of water in front of her.  
“Yeah, we met this asshole elf that hates mages and it surfaced all of my familial grievances. So, Carver and I have been drinking away our sorrows at the Hanged man all night.” despite her best effort to make it sound nonchalantly exciting, she gave a light sob at the end of her sentence.  
“Yeah sounds like a blast,” he chuckled, his amber eyes searched hers.  
“Maker, Anders, as much as magic as screwed me over… where would I be without it? Hearing Fenris, the pissy elf, talk about mages… it shouldn't bother me. I am an adult, but that just… she’s gone,” Kestrel was racked with sobs. She thought of her younger sister. How often they had gotten into trouble together because they had been caught using magic to start a fire or make something float in thin air or help a poor little animal.  
“Bethany?” Anders asked quietly.  
Hawke looked up. She sat back in the chair and looked at him. Silence filled the clinic as Hawke took a sip of her water dismissively.  
“Hawke,” he sighed, “Kestrel. You can’t crumble every time Bethany is mentioned. Yes, the elf sounds like a flaming asshole, and magic isn’t always blessing. But you have to move on.”  
She closed her eyes for a moment. Then, she opened them to find Anders waiting for a response before her.  
“Hey,” he said, “we Fereldans are supposed to be tough, right?” That warranted a laugh.  
“The toughest,” after an awkward length of silence and eye contact, she blinked and said, “Thank you. You know I’m… going to have a splitting headache in the morning and, though I am tough…”  
Anders chuckled and said, “Coming right up.”  
Hawke tried to stand and utterly failed. Landing in the chair once more. Hoping Anders hadn’t noticed, she lifted the cup of water to her lips and drank. He returned to the table a short time later and held a poultice in his hand. He shook his head and said to her, “You’re either going to let me walk you out of here and have you take this in the morning, or you’re staying here and still taking this in the morning.”  
“Anders, I’ll be fine,” Hawke said, irritated.  
“Kestrel, you’re very drunk,” he said flatly.  
“Yes? And?” That was answered with a raised eyebrow. Hawke conceded after a silent standoff, finally relenting under the sheer heat of his stare. Anders helped her up and slung an arm around her waist, supporting her body. Hawke felt the soft warmth emanating from him at her side and guiltily thought about how his arms would feel, encompassing her at the end of a long day. As much as she wanted it, however, she knew Anders had bigger and better things to dote on than her.  
Together they slowly made their way through the streets of Darktown and Lowtown, finally arriving at her residence. He knocked on the door and Kestrel’s mother answered.  
“Kestrel? Andraste preserve me, what’s happened?” she fussed.  
“The Hanged Man, mother. Anders was just… escorting me,” Hawke said, “Will you be alright getting back alone?” she asked him, now.  
“Just get to bed, Hawke,” the healer chided, “I’ll be perfectly fine.” And he left her in her mother’s hands.  
“Where’s Carver?” she asked in worry.  
“Carver is with two very capable friends at the Hanged Man, mother. He’ll be just fine. I’ll retrieve him in the morning.”  
Leandra sighed and helped her daughter into bed. Hawke remembered when she was a child and her parents would tuck her in at night. She had felt so secure and safe. Then, however, she was not drunk. She wasn’t emotionally compromised. And she certainly had more than three people in her family, including herself. As mochas she pitied her mother, she found it ever increasingly difficult to comfort her. After all, Kestrel suffered the death of a father and a sister, just as Leandra has suffered the death of her husband and a daughter. The kinds of love in these bonds were different, yes, but they were no less strong. And when they were broken, she felt no less pain than her mother.  
Then why could she not find it in her self to pity the poor woman? Because her dear mother wallowed in her pain; she used it as reason to receive pity and pardon, rather than one to give of herself so others did not suffer the same. Some dark part of her despised her mother for her weakness, but the larger portion of her soul pitied her for it. In most ways, she was no different than the people Kestrel saw continuing on along the same paths everyday. It was up to people such as herself to venture beyond what is known for their sakes. Thus, she let her mother and Carter be her base reason for doing all she did for those in need.  
Despite her best efforts, Kestrel did not sleep. The bunk was uncomfortable and her mind itched with thoughts of her sister. The precious moments she slept were perforated by nightmares of the destruction of Lothering and Bethany’s death. She was there on that mountain top. The darkspawn surrounded them yet emerged from the shadows below. Kestrel saw the ogre scoop up her dear sister, once more, and toss her aside like an unwanted plaything. She envisioned Flemeth swooping down on dragon’s wings and demolishing the remaining darkspawn. And soon after, Aveline taking the life of her tainted husband, all the while tears streaming down her flushed face. The final thing she remembered before she would wake was Carver, Aveline, and herself dragging Mother along behind them as she struggled to run back to her broken daughter’s side.  
After several grueling hours of tossing and turning, dim light seeped through the cracks in the ceiling. Hawke sat up slowly and remembered suddenly her pervious evening of drinking in the form of a splitting headache and dry mouth. She sat on the edge of the bed and cradled her pounding head in her hands. A tired sigh escaped her lips and she rose shakily.  
Kestrel strapped on her armor and light cloak with all deliberate speed, and made her way to the agglomeration of buckets that they called a kitchen. She dipped a wooden cup in the barrel of rainwater in the corner. Then, she added a portion of the poultice Anders provided the night before. She swirled the liquid and was mesmerized by it. She lifted the cup to her lips and drank deeply until the rush off life coursed through her. There Hawke stood for some time leaning over the barrel before she heard movement behind her and turned her head. Carver staggered out of the bedroom in his casual clothes, unchanged from the underclothes her wore the night before.  
Hawke squinted at her brother and croaked, “How the hell did you make it home?”  
Carver slowly swiveled toward his sister and said softly, “ Isabella and Varric aren’t children. They helped me home and returned to the tavern… place.”  
“Mmmm… I think you should stay home with Mother today. Anders gave me a poultice for my hangover and there’s some of it left,” Kestrel tossed him the packet and he caught it. He fixed her with a pouting glare.  
“I’ll be fine—,” he started.  
“No. And as much as you’re going to hate me for it, I think you should stay home and clear your head today,” she disregarded Carver’s glare and continued, “Carver you wouldn’t have touched a drop of alcohol last night if you hadn’t felt remorse for your twin.” Their eyes locked and Hawke looked intently at her brother’s quivering jaw. He was always so strong. He hid every ounce of emotion, so her could be the man of the family in place of their father. Kestrel admired him for it, really. Seldom did he display any despair after those two dreadful deaths. But beyond his iron facade, was her little brother. All she wanted to do was keep him alive and happy. He called it coddling, but it was the care he deserved; she knew, (very) deep down, that he wanted to feel the security of childhood again, but he rejected all comfort and resented her, in the most familial way, for recognizing his weakness.  
“I loved her too,” she moved to kneel beside him and put her hand on his shoulder, “Take some time. I insist.”  
Carver reluctantly nodded and returned his gaze to the flames dancing before him.  
She stood and made her way to the door. He would never understand her need to protect him. He probably would never forgive her, or understand why she did what she did for him, but Kestrel Hawke was never going to let her brother suffer alone.


	3. Cavern

Hawke made her way through Lowtown to retrieve Varric and then, together, they walked to Anders’ clinic. they encountered no trouble along the way, but saw that the clinic was relatively empty. They walked through the pods of patients that littered the building and stopped behind the people Anders was addressing. When they had finished speaking with each other, Anders pointed at them and said, “ Give me a minute to close up and I’ll be right out.”  
A few minutes later, after Anders had supplied the people in his clinic and sent them away, the mage met them out front and stopped. “Is it just us three?” he asked.   
Varric and Hawke exchanged a look and Kestrel said, “Not quite. We’re going to pick up the elf today and go handle some slavers on the wounded coast.”   
“Oh! Lovely! The anti-mage elf! I should love to meet him,” he said sarcastically.   
“Just… try not to jump down his throat as I did. He is a formidable warrior and has already proven useful,” Hawke told him cautiously. Before he could respond, she turned on her heel and sauntered to the Hightown mansion that Fenris was squatting in. She pushed the door open when the coast was clear and stood on the foyer.   
After a moment, she called, “Uh… Fenris? You coming?”   
She didn’t hear anything so she was about to leave when she heard his rough voice say, “Where are we going?” Kestrel turned and saw that he was already prepared. Did he sleep in his armor?   
She tried —and failed— to keep the confusion out of her voice when she said, “Wounded Coast,” Hawke cleared her throat, “I‘ve caught wind of some slavers and Tal-Vashoth in the area and thought you would want in.” Fenris nodded and followed them though the door.  
They quickly left Kirkwall and traveled to the Wounded Coast. Hawke immediately regretted bringing Anders along. The whole morning, Varric and she were forced to suffer through the debate between the two men. Endlessly bickering about the oppression of mages. Anders wanted to abolish the Circle and Fenris wanted it tightened. Hawke thought that The Circle should be less of a prison, but not disappear. For she knew firsthand the dangers and uneducated mage presented. The two men only quieted for battle. Finally, as they neared their destination Kestrel turned around and stopped them.   
“Andraste’s ass, are you two going to do this the whole time?” Anders and Fenris stopped to stare at her. Anders was rather flustered, but Fenris was collected, though red-faced. Hawke cocked her head, expecting a reply.   
Fenris cleared his throat and said pointedly, “I am fine.” He turned his head toward Anders, who was seething. All eyes were on him and he nodded.   
“Good!” she turned and walked away, carefully measured sway in her hips, “Wouldn’t it be terrible if our position was given away and we all were killed!”   
Hawke hated the Wounded coast. It always rained and was ridden with the dregs of society. Internally, Kestrel praised herself for bringing her cloak. Though woolen, she knew an enchantment that repelled water. It kept her warm against the wind and kept her dry. Which, much to her amusement, was more than she could sat of her companions. They would never admit it, but they were cold and wet. And blissfully quiet.   
After a moment Kestrel gave in and cast the repelling water spell on them because she needed them to be in shape to fight.   
“Was that you, Hawke?” Fenris asked.   
Hawke looked over her shoulder at the elf and smiled, “I need you in tip top shape, wouldn’t do for all of you to be shivering in your boots before we even saw battle.”  
He wiggled his toes in the mud and laughed warmly, “I don't wear boots.”   
They approached the slaver hideout quietly and carefully. She nodded to Varric and he cloaked himself in preparation to scout ahead. The dwarf slunk into the maw of the cave and the remaining three waited for his return. It was silent and Hawke prayed to every deity she knew that Varric returned. She knew it was just a few slavers but it had just been darkspawn on that mountain top.   
Varric emerged a few minutes later, unscathed. Hawke released the breath she didn't know she was holding and looked at him pointedly.   
“Well, there are slavers. A ton of them. There isn’t much of a structure, though. It should be easy to route them out. The cave doesn't branch off, from what I saw. It leads straight to the main chamber…” he whispered.   
“But?” Anders chimed in.   
“It’s swarming. And they have prisoners,” Varric finished.   
“Maker’s breath,” Hawke swore.   
“Slavers… I’ll kill them gladly,” Fenris growled, “We have to get them out of there.”   
“I agree,” she said, “You said there was little to no structure. Did you pick up on a watch cycle?”   
“Yes,” said the dwarf.   
“So we need to work quickly and quietly,” she closed her eyes and envisioned the layout of the cave. “Moisture?”  
“I— yeah, cave dampness,” he replied.   
“So, Anders, we’re limited to ice and spirit. Lightning will carry through the water to us and fire will consume all the oxygen in the cave. Freeze them, infect them, do anything to take out large swathes. But stay at distance.  
“Fenris, you're the only front linesman we have here. What we freeze and what comes after you, you kill. We have to punch a hole straight through. No one can report back.   
“Varric, stay in the shadows. Lay down cover fire for Fenris. I want clean shots. Keep. Them. Off,” she looked at them for affirmation and added, “We’re running offense on this. Don’t screw it up.”  
She stood and crept into the cave. After fifty yards they came upon a small contingent of five men. Hawke pointed to Varric. The dwarf nodded and fired a scattered shot at the group. Three fell, dead. Two left were frozen with a flick of the mages’ wrists. Fenris rushed forward and shattered them quickly and quietly.   
Hawke held up a fist to silence them and searched for any indication of approaching forces. Nothing. She signaled them forward and they came upon a room. They stuck to the shadows of the corridor as Kestrel surveyed the scene. The slavers sat at a table laughing and drinking. Hawke slowly turned to Varric and mouthed, How far?   
The dwarf mouthed back, Far enough.   
Hawke nodded, then signaled for Varric and Anders to head one way and Fenris and herself snuck the other. They had them flanked; Hawke gave the opposite party the signal to wait. And she mouthed the incantation for walking bomb to herself and cast it on a soldier. She looked to Anders in the shadows, he knew what spell she had cast. He nodded and waited. The ledge they sat on kept them out of range while the man doubled over and… well…   
SPLAT   
Before the others could scream, Hawke and Anders froze them. Varric rained arrows on them and they were powdered in seconds. In anticipation, Hawke raised her fist to signal that no one should move. They listened for any hint of an enemy presence closing in on their location. There was only the echo of distant voices off the cave walls.   
Kestrel signaled them toward the next corridor. When they met up once more, Varric flagged them down and said that the main room was coming up. Hawke nodded and said that they should move quickly so the absence of the guards was not noticed.   
They kept to the shadows as they neared the entrance. Hawke stopped them and motioned Varric forward. She looked around the room at all the people, scouting out the officers and planning paths toward them. She mouthed to Varric, Vantage points?  
Varric pointed to the boardwalk that led to a raised platform at one end of the room. Then, to a ridge that wrapped around the upper levels of the cavern. Each was infested with men. Hawke let out a quiet breath and nodded. Varric would engage stealth and sneak up to the platform. Anders and Fenris would lie in wait at the opening until they saw Varric’s signal and they would charge into the thick of it. Hawke, however, would once more cast walking bomb on the men along the ridge and fight the rest of the way to the vantage point. When the spell was set, Varric slunk up the board walk, past the slavers. While time was allowed for the dwarf to reach his destination, Hawke traced the path of the infected man up the ridge. When in the vicinity of enough men, and when she was sure Varric had reached his destination, she clenched her fist and the slaver burst and the other men were infected.   
Then, an officer fell from the platform as Varric planted a bolt in his back. A rain of arrows fell around the room upon the large throngs of men. “There’s the signal,” Anders said. The two charged forward, Fenris acting as a shield for Anders and his spell casting. Hawke watched the elaborate dance he performed and was caught in his spell.   
Then, she heard the battle cries of men further up the ridge. Snapping out of her daydream, Hawke readied her staff and ran up the ridge, where the ground was already slick with gore. the few men that remained were easy enough to defeat with a few strokes of her staff blade and a few mind blasts. Hawke looked down. Fenris and Anders were making quick work of the slavers below, but were nearly surrounded. To help, Hawke used a force mage spell to lift the men and them slam them against the ground, crushing them. She set a shield around Fenris, for he was taking damage at a steady rate.   
Kestrel scanned the cave and saw Varric firing at the slaver around him. She summoned a gravitational ring to slow the slavers, and then invoked the words to a blizzard spell. With a majority of them gone, Varric finished off the last and returned to the knot of men below, steadily and carefully picking off hostiles.   
Hawke saw Anders gulping down lyrium potions and she slept off the ridge into the fight. Casting ice and spirit spells side by side, the two mages made a considerable dent in the opposing defenses. In a short time, they were gone and all that remained was the door in the wall to the cavern.   
Hawke strode to the door and kicked it in. A man cowered inside. Two, actually. Though the second seemed more of a captive, with bound hands and feet. The free man burst up and swung his prisoner in front of him.   
“One more step and I’ll slit his throat,” he said.   
Hawke chuckled, “Bullshit, if you kill him, there’s nothing keeping me from killing you,” she took a calculated step forward, to prove her point.   
The man swallowed and loosened his grip on the prisoner, “Alright, perhaps we can work out a deal?”   
Fenris stiffened and said to Hawke, “Do not listen to this snake.”  
“Relax. I don’t trust him any more than you do,” she reassured him. Squaring her shoulders, she said to the man, “Give me the boy, now!”   
The man stared and his eyes widened, “Only if you’ll give me my life in return.”   
Hawke sighed, “Fine.”   
The man slowly released the prisoner and relaxed, when the boy was safe. Hawke procured a knife from her sleeve and embedded it in the slaver’s forehead. After a still moment she walked over and knelt next to the body. She removed the throwing knife and said quietly, “May the Maker have mercy on your soul,” she closed the man’s eyes and emptied his pockets. She turned, and to Fenris, she said, “Cut his restraints.” The elf drew a knife and removed the ropes from the wrists and ankles of the boy.   
“What is your name?” Fenris asked. The party waited for an answer.   
“M-my name is… well you may c-call me Feynriel,” the boy said carefully. His posture suggested nervousness.   
Hawke relaxed and became more personable, “We are not here to hurt you, friend.”   
Feynriel blinked, “I’ve had to be very cautious lately. You see…,” he grew very quiet and averted his eyes. They waited. A short time later he sighed and looked at Hawke, “I’m and apostate, I’m seeking the help of a Dalish clan. I left the alienage to get away from the Templars to… protect my mother.”  
“Why a Dalish clan?” Anders asked curiously. He had visibly perked when the boy said he was an apostate.   
“My mother is from a Dalish clan, but my father is human and they asked her to leave when they discovered I was half-blooded.”   
“But why? Why not seek out others that could help you master your gift? Why specifically the Dalish?”   
“I possess a special brand of magic fabled among the Dalish,” Feynriel explained, “I can… shape the fade, bend it to my will.”   
Hawke chimed in, “And the Dalish can help you control this? I thought you said it was fabled.”   
“They are the only ones with any knowledge of this form of magic.”  
Hawke grew silent and said in a voice just above a whisper, “ Your mother wants you to come home.”   
Feynriel and Anders looked at her in disbelief, “If he goes back he’ll be put in the Circle and he’ll never see his mother again.”  
Hawke closed her eyes and took a deep breath. In her mind images of her own mother when she lost one of her children, and then the worried elven mother from the alienage. tHese thoughts warred against her father’s and Anders’ stories of what happened to Circle mages; there was a tide of old stories of templar cruelty tramping through her brain. And there she stood, fighting her internal battle between all she knew in her mind and all she believed in her heart. When she opened her eyes, she looked at Feynriel and said,  
“Your mother asked me to come and get you. But I can’t do that. Go,” she paused, “Go to the Dalish. They can protect you for a time. We’ll escort you.” Behind her, Fenris grumbled something about how dangerous apostates were and they should be in the circle so they could be contained. Hawke looked sharply over her shoulder and Fenris glared.   
“Come on,” Hawke said, “We can set up camp here tonight. It should be safe enough. We’ll leave at dawn.” They broke to set up camp in the cavern. Hawke took first watch. Though she was not the only person awake. Kestrel was polishing her staff and sharpening its blade when Fenris approached her. She cast a sideways glance at him. He looked angry.   
“What is it Fenris?” Hawke said.   
“That mage is dangerous.”   
“That mage has a name and a family. He’ll never see them again if he gets put in the Circle.”  
“And the Dalish will protect others from him? They can barely protect themselves!” he was seething, “I don’t trust him.”  
“I’m beginning to think you don’t trust any mage. I lived outside of the Circle my whole life and I turned out fine!”   
“Perhaps not! You can hardly blame me! After all,” he laughed cruelly, “ it ruined my life as well as yours!”  
“We’re not all like Danarius, Fenris!” Hawke retorted.   
“Truly? Tell me, Hawke, what has magic touched that it doesn't spoil!”   
“Not a whole fucking lot, really. But I’ve learned to live with it.”  
“Others have not,” he snarled, “I don't remember anything of my former life because of magic: I lost whatever parents I may have had to it. I’ve been treated as a slave because of it, and it changed my whole life for the worse, so I do not live with it.”   
Hawke stared evenly at him, “And yet you stay because you have use of it.”  
“ An unfortunate situation, yes, that I should use the sickness,” he spat the word at her feet, “to rid my self of my eternal plague.”  
“I never wanted this, you know. Magic,” she looked away, “Perhaps I have learned to handle myself as any other would, but this power is my plague as well. We are not so different, you and I. This thing forced upon me has ruined my whole life.”  
“We are nothing alike!”   
“Aren’t we?” she said sharply, “You didn't want your marks, but perhaps with some obscure ritual and no small amount of pain they can be removed. I guess there’s one difference, really. To cure myself of this illness I would lose the ability to feel.”  
“Where there is magic, there is a mage. And where there is a mage there is an abuse of power!”   
“What power is that? Out side of Tevinter, in the real world, mages are locked in the Circle and abused by templars claiming to do the Maker’s work. And when they aren’t? Mages are slaves to themselves. They can never set down roots, for they’ll always be found. They always live in fear of hurting the ones they love or even themselves,” her voice steadily rose, “Not all are lucky enough to have proper training to harness their powers! That’s all this boy wants. Not to live as a rebel and hurt, but to learn how to stop being afraid of himself!”  
“There’s an easy solution,” a vicious gleam arose in his green eyes.   
Hawke gaped in horror, “Surely you don't mean…”  
He remained unaffected.   
“How dare you!” she rose to her feet and fixed him with a furious, tear-stained glare, “As long as you are with me, you will not speak in such things or I will return you to Tevinter myself!”  
“Of course you would lord that over me!” he growled.   
“That’s not what I —,” she started.   
“What?! Not what you meant?” he yelled, “Speak plainly, then, there’s nothing between us to spoil anymore!”  
“Look,” she seethed at the interruption, “I don't like slavers anymore than you. As long as we are together, and our goals lie at the end of the same path, I suppose it could only be of benefit to see it through together. And it won’t do that we can’t constantly be at each other throats.”  
“I don’t need you, mage” he said defiantly.   
“Don’t be daft, elf. If you didn't need me you wouldn't have contacted me in the first place,” after soaking in his defeated silence she continued, “Unless you truly are as incorrigible as you come across, then we can agree to tolerate each other until this whole affair comes to a close.”  
“I could never befriend you,” he remained belligerent.   
“ Bloody—,” she caught herself before raising her voice once more, “I didn’t say that now, did I? No. I said tolerate. Hate me all you like but keep it to yourself. You’ve made your feelings clear to me, and there is no need to repeat them.”   
“Then you will understand that I will not abide by actions that I do not agree with,” he said.   
“You can brood to your hearts desire, talk until your blue in the face. But know this, if you make one move to stop me I will remind you that I can very well continue on without your assistance,” she moved close to his face and grew very quiet.   
He sneered at her, but remained silent. There was something beneath his eyes that was not cold as she expected. It burned with such intensity that she couldn't look away. And deeper still, she saw hurt. Behind his brazen exterior, was a little boy scared of the horrors the world contained. She knew what he felt, she just had drastically different methods.   
“Two sides of the same coin’” she said under her breath.   
“What?” he said dubiously.   
“Nothing. Go to sleep, Fenris,” she turned away and picked up her staff and returned to her work.   
“I don’t take orders from you,” he was still.   
Kestrel looked at him sideways, unsmiling, and studied him. She looked at her working hands and said, “Then do as you like.”  
He walked to his bedroll and went to sleep.


	4. Precipice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merrill is recruited, and the party soon discovers her chilling abilities.  
> Flemeth appears to Hawke and delivers an important truth.

The trek to Sundermount was damp. While they slept in the cave, it had rained and stormed. The winds had fell trees in their path and the rains created little rivulets in the dirt road. Hawke was fine, but barefoot Fenris and Feynriel fared far worse. The mud squished between their toes, though they didn’t complain.  
Kestrel looked over her shoulder and smiled, “How do you manage bare feet?” she called back as she shook her head, “Andraste’s flaming sword, my feet would have fallen off long ago!”  
“You also come from Ferelden, Hawke. If you walk barefoot there, your feet will rot off,” Varric laughed.  
“Watch yourself, Varric. That’s my homeland you're talking about and Anders’ too!” Hawke playfully warned.  
Their banter was light on account of their guest. The party tried to lift the boy’s spirits. Minus Fenris, who objected to the whole ordeal.  
Despite the weather, they passed the time quickly on their way to the Dalish settlement. It wan’t out of the way, and Hawke had to travel there to discuss a matter with the Keeper about Flemeth, or whatever her name is.  
The mountain path grew progressively colder as they made their way up. Kestrel was never good with the cold. It didn’t help either that the air was thin. The puffs of white breath arose from her lips like little puffs of smoke coming from a fire.  
Varric walked next to Feynriel and Fenris took up the rear of the small column. Anders refused to walk beside him after what he overheard the night before. So, he walked along beside Hawke. She wasn’t in the talking mood, however, and proved to be dull company.  
“You’re awfully quiet,” he coaxed.  
Kestrel looked at him, “Yes, I suppose I am.”  
He sighed and looked forward, “I’m not a light sleeper you know, and I’m certainly not deaf.”  
She remained impassive. In fact, she noticeably clenched her jaw as if to prevent herself from revealing her emotional conflict.  
“Kestrel,” Anders sighed, “what good will it do to keep everything bottled up like this?” he was worried, for certain, “Maker’s breath, you’re difficult.”  
She quirked her mouth upward, “That’s my middle name.”  
“Kestrel Difficult Hawke?” he tested the name, “Yes, it’s fitting.”  
“Anders I’m fine, you needn’t worry.”  
“No you’re not fine, don’t try that on me,” he knit his eyebrows together, “I heard you last night, dammit! The things you said… You need to talk about it!”  
She sighed dismissively but he pressed onward.  
“You can’t keep blaming yourself for every thing,” he said quietly, “it never ends well. Listen to me.”  
He turned her head toward him so she looked him in the eye, “You’re not the only mage to think this. You have to overcome it and move on,” he paused in thought, “and I’ll be here to help you through it, but you need to tell me how I can help you.” His hand hovered by her face for a moment as he spoke but soon dropped away.  
“Anders…” she whispered.  
“Ahead!” Varric interrupted them and they moved apart.  
“The encampment,” Feynriel said in astonishment.  
Hawke saw it ahead. The aravel boasted their bright red flags and two hunters stood in their path ahead. Hawke swallowed and approached them.  
“A dangerous path you have chosen, shem,” the man called.  
“I have business with your Keeper,” she called at a distance.  
“I’m sure you do,” he drew his bow, and in response her friends drew their weapons. She held up her hands to signal that it wasn’t necessary. But the hunter held up his bow even after they replaced their weapons.  
“I have very little reason to believe you,” he said, “ and even less to keep you alive.”  
Then, a woman appeared behind them, wearing elaborately embroidered robes and a knotty staff.  
“You have enough if I say you do, da’len,” she chastised. The hunter stood down, turned toward the woman, and bowed his head.  
“Ma serranas, Keeper,” he said before rushing away.  
“Go,” she ordered. She was old and withered but she had a mysterious aura about her.  
“I came to —,” Hawke started.  
“ I know what brings you,” she gestured to Hawke’s hand rummaging in her pack for something, “The amulet you carry was to be delivered to me,” she looked past her to Feynriel, “but he was not anticipated. The old magics… they are very strong in you, boy.” She walked toward him and looked him in the eyes, searching this soul.  
“Come,” she said finally, “Let us perform your ritual and you shall depart.”  
All through the camp, elves stared at them with no small amount of contempt. ‘Who are these flat ears?’ she could almost hear them saying to each other. They walked past groups of elves sitting about a fire who laughed and told stories of their exploits, but they grew eerily quiet when Hawke approached behind the Keeper. This was not their place; here, they were outsiders.  
Ahead, there was a secluded tent, away from the bustle of the rest of the camp. Outside of it stood two hunters and a young woman in green robes. The Keeper dismissed the Hunters with a nod of her head. She turned and looked at the young woman fiddling with some small trinket.  
Her ears dropped in anger and she sighed, “Merrill, enough with your silly project!”  
Merrill’s ears perked and she hurriedly stood, almost tripping over own feet. She had a small frame, like any elf, and had short, dark brown hair with little braids thrown in every once in a while. She looked between the Keeper and Hawke with her big green doe eyes. She seemed a child to Hawke.  
She cleared her throat and said, “Keeper Marethari, my apologies, but you know that its my duty, as First, to preserve our culture!”  
“You are treading a dangerous line, da’len,” Marethari warned.  
Merrill’s ears flattened to the sides of her head and she narrowed her eyes in defiance, “If you don't like what I am doing, I would be more than happy to leave, ha’hren.” The anger sounded strange falling from her lips; her light and feathery voice betrayed her feelings.  
“If you wish to leave, you may accompany us back to Kirkwall,” Hawke offered.  
Merrill grew a smile on her face, “ Iw ould very much like that!” She looked t the Keeper for approval.  
Marethari did not argue.“If it is what you wish, da’len…,” Marethari said sadly, “They did not come to sweep you away, however. These people need your help with a ritual,” she turned toward Hawke and said, “It must be done at the top of the mountain. I would go with all due haste, Asha’ bellanar is not a patient.”  
“Asha’ bellanar?” Merrill asked, “Keeper, what manner of ritual is this?”  
Hawke replied for Marethari, “We owe her a favor,” the elf seemed shocked and Hawke continued, “My name is Kestrel Hawke, you may call me Hawke if you wish. Varric has taken to calling me RedEye.” This was because of the tattoos and bloody smears she had on her face. The redness of the blood framed her eyes as make up adorned any other’s. Her crimson tattoos whorled and bent in elaborate patterns that made it difficult for the eye to follow. This, paired with the severity of her pale Fereldan complexion, lyrium-blue eyes, and inky black hair made her seem a most interesting figure.  
Merrill smiled sadly at her and took up her staff. It was a fearsome weapon, indeed. On its head was secured a skull, not a human’s. It appeared to be a deer, so Hawke assumed it was a halla skull.  
“Follow me,” and she began to lead them away from the gloomy tent and toward a narrow mountain path.  
Hawke noticed that she, too, had bare feet. In efforts to lighten the mood, she said, “What is it with elves and bare feet? What if you step on a rusty nail or in dog shit or something?” Fenris audibly scoffed at her childishness and Merrill continued to walk ahead,but she laughed and turned her feet up so Hawke could look at the bottom. It was dotted with scars and was covered in thick callouses.  
“We may be barefoot, but it makes it easier to grip. We have stronger constitutions, I suppose, otherwise I would have died long ago,” she rambled, “I suppose it would be easier to just wear shoes, but then you have to keep making new ones when they wear down or you grow out of them. And that means hunting and risking the lives of hunters or butchering halla—,” she stopped abruptly, “Oh, pardon me, I’m rambling again. I don't even think I introduced myself properly! How do you humans do that? Is it more,” her voice raised to a higher register, “‘Hi there! My name is Merrill!’ or,” her voice dropped, “ ‘Greetings you may call me Merrill’—.”  
“Easy! Easy!” Varric stopped her, “trust me they’re not that complex.”  
Both Anders and Kestrel looked back at the dwarf and narrowed their eyes in mock anger.  
Varric shrugged and smirked at them, “Well, am I wrong?”  
Fenris chimed in now, “Well they are Fereldan, so definitely not in their case.”  
Kestrel turned around and stuck out her lip in a pout, “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” she brightened and smiled at Merrill, “Stick with us kid, you’ll be just fine.”  
“Oh? Will she? Has the word fine expanded its definition to include ‘you’ll survive, but it’ll hurt’?” Fenris muttered sarcastically.  
“Don’t scare her, Fenris!” Anders said with a light chuckle, “Truly, if you wish to leave your clan, you shall have a place with us.”  
“Thank you,” she sounded surprised.  
Hawke grew curious and asked her, “Why do you want to leave your clan, Merrill?” tHe woman ahead of her grew silent and continued walking as she thought of something to say.  
“I don’t fit in,” she answered curtly. She looked about her and sped up, “Come on, we’re almost there.”  
Hawke looked out over the land in the silence the followed and noticed the hills. The rolling, green mounds were soft and pleasing to the eye, but even still, as and earthly protrusion, there were dark valleys that formed between them. Beyond that, she saw the curve of the Earth and the mists that clouded the sea in the distance. Hawke sighed and wished she could sprout wings and soar over the land and find a corner of the earth where not even the most powerful templar or mage could find her and involve her in their affairs. That was her dream, in truth, to live unburdened by such petty things. But alas, this was not to be her fate. She carried this on her shoulders every day that she walked the streets of Kirkwall and the lands around it. And Kestrel resolved to continue to do so every day on which her own legs could support her. Just because she couldn’t have her perfect world, did not mean another should go without.  
The mouth of the cave opened before them.  
“Through here, there is a rock slide blocking the rest of the path ahead,” Merrill said to them in a detached voice.  
“Is there anything inside that we should be worried about?” Hawke asked. She hated caves, every one of them; there was a constant threat of collapse, and therefore the constant threat of being crushed under the weight of an entire mountain.  
Merrill shrugged and said in reply, “I guess we’ll have to see. This one is rather unpredictable.”  
“That’s comforting,” Varric muttered behind her. He, too, disliked caverns and all their hidden ways.  
Onward they pushed through the din of the cave. Nothing of insurmountable danger appeared in their path, aside from the occasional giant spider. Hawke seemed to hold her breath here, almost as though she feared breathing in something terrible. The paths narrowed and widened as they continued, creating an environment of false collapse.  
Later on, the party stepped into a wide cavern with occasional beams of sunlight permeating the darkness. Hawke relaxed her shoulders and walked past Merrill to a small chest in the corner. She lifted the lid and extracted the tattered cloth that lay within. Perhaps she could get a small portion of money for it from an old dweller of low or darktown. Old habits died hard, she supposed. Her friends would always tease her for her obsession with collecting ragged odds and ends from her travels and attempting to turn a profit on them.  
“And what do you suppose you’ll get for that trinket? A whole sovereign this time?” Anders teased. Varric laughed behind him and opened his mouth as if to add in, but thought better it when he saw the pensive expression on Kestrel’s face as she fondled the threadbare swatch. What they would never know was that, after her father died, she had to scavenge the streets and woods through which they traveled (never stayed) for baubles such as these to scrape together enough to buy supplies from a trader. All the while, her mother moped and doted on the twins, who clung to her skirts. They were her responsibility, then; those were simpler times, without the threat of darkspawn. And when they came, she failed them, and she failed her father. Never again.  
“Or two!” she swept the moment aside with the shrouded admission.  
But as quick as it started, the moment ended. On the ledge above them, a moan sounded. It was gravelly and decayed; it sent a chill through Hawke’s bones. She quickly stuffed the bit of cloth into her small pack and grabbed her staff.  
The form stumbled in the beam of sunlight flooding the cave. It was certainly not alive. The undead form moaned again and the green, rotting skin stretched over its protruding cheeks. The eyes were sunken and unseeing and the creature’s hair was stringy. Its armor was much in the same condition; it was rusted and deteriorated in most places.  
Varric disappeared from sight and Hawke sent a bolt of lightning at the form. It arced and suddenly there were more emerging from the shadows. Those unburdened by armor moved much faster, and Hawke saw that she needed to slow them down. she focused all of her energy to a central point and released it. The undead were pulled to the center of the ring and Fenris took out a few of them with one wide sweep of his blade.  
More and more began to appear and soon Fenris and Varric were cornered. Anders and Hawke quickly moved to flank the hoard, felling them with flames and ice. But when one fell, another took its place.  
“Red!” Varric cried. Hawke’s limbs grew weak from the mana depletion, and she noticed Anders beginning to slow as well. Still thew spun their spells and tried to keep the monstrosities off of them as best they could.  
Suddenly, the earth bubbled with red fluid and the moans of the undead transformed to shrieks. Red smoke rose from the pool of.. blood?… and the creatures began to evaporate. Hawke watched in horror, only imagining Fenris and Varric suffering the same fate.  
Hawke cried out to her friends, but the screams swallowed her words whole.  
Eventually, the pool returned to the earth and Hawke sighed in relief as she saw all three of her companions safe, but they were no less bewildered than she. She looked to Merrill; the elf was returning a knife to her leather belt and a red-stained cloth hung from her side. She looked up at the four and smiled timidly.  
“You’re—“ Hawke began, “You’re a….. blood mage?” She had heard of this brand of magic from her father. It was used by mages who were equal parts desperate and stupid. The caster powered up their own abilities with blood sacrifices to demons. This slight elven woman was one of these monstrosities? Kestrel could hardly believe it.  
“Ahhhh, shit,” Varric sighed, “And here I thought Blondie was the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen.”  
Anders shot Varric a dirty look. He turned his attention to Merrill and said in a calm voice, though Kestrel did not miss the dangerous undertones, “This is a dangerous path you tread, my friend.”  
Merrill turned indignant and puffed out her chest, “I know what I’m doing!”  
Fenris rolled his eyes and muttered angrily, “Said every blood mage ever,” he looked at her from under lowered eyebrows, “They all come out the same in the end I suppose.”  
“I said, I know what I’m doing. I’ve read all of the lore on this. I have walked the fade in my dreams. I trust the spirits—“  
“Demons,” Hawke interrupted.  
Merrill glared at her, “…Spirits more than most of the people in my clan. They’ve helped me so far.”  
“They’re putting you in their debt. As soon as they need something from you, they’ll use you,” Anders said in concern.  
Merrill shook her head dismissively, “Would you like my help or not? Asha’bellanar is not a patient woman.” She hung her head as if to hide her face and trudged past them and through the opening that led to the top of Sundermount.  
An uneasy silence settled on them. Hawke suddenly understood why Marethari was so eager to be rid of he young First. But, she had agreed to take her with them…  
She shook her head and motioned for her companions to follow her. 

 

The open air greeted them and Hawke took a deep breath. She would never tire of the feeling of stepping out of a cave into the sky.  
The ritual took little time and passed without incident. However, at its close, black mist swilled from the locket and took the form of a woman. Then it solidified.  
“Ah! Now that is much better!”  
Flemeth. What was she… Hawke’s jaw dropped and she said questioningly, “What are you… I mean…. How— What form of magic is this?” she finally managed.  
“Old trick of mine, dear,” she croaked.  
Merrill bowed low and extended a hand to the old woman in greeting, “Andar’an atish’an, Asha’bellanar.”  
Flemeth let out a throaty laugh and bade Merrill to rise, “There is no need of such formality, child,” she smiled sweetly. It was… unsettling. She continued on, “Tell me, da’len, what do you know of me?”  
Merrill struggled to think of something to say, “Only that you here held in high respect by the ancient elves.”  
“Ah, yes,” she sighed, “The dalish do so like to cling to such things. Do not treat me as such, my child. I will soon be gone from this place, I should think.”  
Hawke looked on in wonder at the old apostate. She still racked her mind as to what form of magic could do such things.  
“Why did you need me to do this?” Hawke finally said.  
“I had business here,” she replied simplistically.  
“But… how is it you stowed yourself away like this?” Kestrel said.  
“ A part of my spirit was in this amulet. Another is elsewhere; as are the other parts. I get more done this way.” She was being evasive. Flemeth grew serious and addressed Hawke, “We are on the precipice of change. Every action you make will have consequences that will send ripples through the very fabric of Thedas. But, it does you no good to lie in wait; leap into the fray, make the world… new. Do not be afraid of falling from the peak, embrace it; learn from it.”  
Hawke laughed, “I suppose it helps to have wings.” But the words struck a chord deep inside her. She truly could not abide doing nothing. Hawke turned from the woman and walked away. At the mouth of the cave she looked back to say something to Flemeth, but she was gone. Hawke scanned the scene of the ritual, but it was as if she was never there. Even the amulet had disappeared.  
A shiver ran through her. The unknown was a terrifying place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be patient for chapter five, it takes time to write.


	5. Family Matters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feelings arise between Hawke and Anders, Carver admits to a few things, and Hawke and her mother get into it over coffee.

In a short 10 days, the five had returned to Kirkwall. Merrill gaped at the massive statues that stood watch at the entrance of the city. The Twins, they were called by the locals. An eternal reminder that Kirkwall got its start on the backs of slaves.  
The next thing she saw was the gallows. The Circle tower loomed over them and Kestrel stopped to look up at the ominous structure. She thought of all the mages who never knew their families because of the Chantry and its anti-mage regime. Hawke had very strong opinions about where the Chantry could stuff their anti-mage bullshit.  
She grit her teeth and began to walk away. As she left, Fenris walked at her side and asked her, “If you could change it, what would you do about the Circle, Hawke?”  
Kestrel looked sidelong at him, debating wether or not to simply placate him or tell him what she really thought. Her idea wasn’t so extreme as Anders’, to be certain, but there were many who would ensure it never saw the light of day.  
She thought that any rift between them could not be opened any further than it already was, so she sighed inwardly and said, “Well, I wouldn’t do away with the whole thing, for certain. My life is a testament to what happens when mages are uneducated in their gifts. My father was a wonderful teacher, don’t get me wrong, but there were a lot of lessons that went unlearned…,” she paused in remembrance of Malcolm and his wide smile and burly laugh, “I suppose I would keep the circle, but do away with Chantry influence. If you stop treating mages like they are no more than tools to be used and abused, then they don’t feel like they need to rebel and use blood magic.”  
Fenris looked ahead and furrowed his brows in thought, “It would be curious to see, I suppose. But I fear that giving them free reign would spark a situation so similar to Tevinter.”  
Hawke clenched her jaw and said evenly, “I’m not saying there would be no supervision, however. But, there would be no templars abusing their power.” Stories Anders and her Father shared with her came to mind. They described to her how the templars would beat mages for the smallest infractions of their petty rules; how they raped the women and belittled them; what stood out most in her mind was the story Malcolm told her about the cruel Knight-Captain who shackled mages suspected of blood magic to the outside of the tower for three days. He would bring them back from the brink of death and “recondition” them. Kestrel shuddered.  
Fenris said no more after he saw her grimace. He sighed and looked ahead walking with Hawke until he turned in the opposite direction to Hightown.  
The rest trudged to Lowtown’s alienage, where Merrill would be the safest. The streets were dark by the time they had reached the slum. Kestrel knocked on the Keeper’s door and it opened slightly (it was unusual for people to roam around the alienage at night). Recognition flashed across the old elf’s face and he opened the door further.  
“Messere Hawke! Not that you are unwelcome here, friend, but this is a very odd hour for a visit,” he said apprehensively.  
“I do not mean to trouble you, Keeper, but this woman,” she gestured to Merrill, “need a place to stay.”  
The Keeper stepped out of his home and regarded Merrill. She wore her light mail covered in furs and green, embroidered cloth. Her arms were crossed to cover the scars at the folds of her elbows, and she seemed to fold in on herself. The First of Clan Sabrae seemed so small and helpless, but Hawke knew she was, in reality, deadly. Useful trick, really, people would overlook her, and then POW! demon to the face. As long as the demon wasn’t directed at her, Hawke supposed she could deal with her.  
The Keeper sighed in pity and addressed Merrill directly, “You can stay in my home for the evening. Tomorrow, we can find you a place to stay.” He motioned for her to follow him inside and she began to, but before she disappeared she turned to Kestrel and smiled.  
“Thank you,” she bit her lip and looked at her feet shyly, “It is not often that someone looks past my vocation and gets to know me. Its been a lonely existence and… perhaps now that can change.” Hawke smiled at her and Merrill shuffled her feet, “Good night, Kestrel.”  
“I’ll visit you tomorrow,” Hawke said softly. She didn't want to wake anyone else. She stood outside the door until it closed and she turned away. Her hovel was not far from the alienage and she could certainly make it there herself safely, but Anders insisted on escorting her home, even after Varric had said his goodbyes and returned to the Hanged Man.  
There was a comfortable silence between the two; all that needed to be said was said in actions. The light brush of their hands, thoughtful glances, even the relaxed posture. Some spoke louder than others, though. One stood out specifically in Kestrel’s mind.  
Just before Anders left her at the door, he paused in a moment of decision and looked at her. He shook his head and laughed. It was warm and bubbled from his chest, spreading to Hawke. Then, suddenly, he took her face in his hands and his lips met hers. Kestrel gave a gasp of surprise, but she did not move away. It was a chaste kiss, not passionate. It was exploratory in every sense. Exploring the possibility of a true relationship; exploring each other.  
Anders breathlessly broke away and smiled at her. Kestrel loved his contagious, lopsided smile. She began to laugh and she leaned foreword into his chest. Anders wrapped his arms around her and pressed aa kiss to her head before stepping away. He looked at her with his whiskey-colored eyes and his grin lessened to a smirk.  
“Sweet dreams, Red,” his voice was rough and deep… It made Kestrel’s belly warm up. He turned away and walked down the steps and around the corner. In the darkness, she could still see his bright smile and she had to put her hand over her mouth to cover her own. After all, she couldn't have any neighbors saying that they saw her giggling like a school girl in the middle of the night.  
Hawke swung open the door and stepped inside her uncle’s home. Leandra sat by the fire sticking a needle through and old pair of socks. Sitting opposite her in an old battered chair was Uncle Gamlen. He was drooling down his front and an old ledger was lying on his chest. He truly was pitiful. From what Hawke understood, the Amells were once greet family of Kirkwall. But, when her mother left to be with her father, Gamlen was left to care for his parents. When they died, he spent his inheritance on useless things. Namely, gambling. After the attack on Lothering, her mother suggested coming to Kirkwall where her family was. Seeing no other option, they went. But there was no money left, and thus they were forced to live here in this cubby hole in the bowels of Kirkwall.  
“Where’s Carver?” Hawke practically shouted, hoping that her uncle would wake up. She didn't care if anything she did offended him.  
He stirred and looked around in confusion for his niece’s voice, who was behind him. He turned just enough to see her and grunted in greeting. Something along the lines of, “Oh…. its you.” and he returned to his ledger.  
Leandra looked pub at Kestrel over her darning and said, “He’s at the Hanged Man with… oh what was her name,” she closed her eyes in thought, “Isabela.” She said it as if it were nothing.  
Hawke blinked in surprise. Since when did Carver even bother with Isabela? Since when did her even bother with women, for that matter? She would have to interrogate him about this… Not that she didn’t want him to pursue a relationship, but she just wanted to know where this came from.  
But that would have to wait until the morning. For now, all she wanted to do was sleep. Kestrel shook her head and walked to the barrel of rainwater in the corner. Taking up the soap and a rag, she wetted the piece of cloth and worked it into a lather. She ran it over her face and neck. How wonderful it was to be clean! She took up a bowl and filled it to carry to the side room.  
She shut the door behind her and set the basin on a chair. Her clothes reeked with sweat and dirt, and she practically had to peel them away from her skin. She took the rag once more and ran it over her chest and legs, scrubbing away the toils of the day. The rag was refreshingly cool on her overheated skin; the summer had been hot and humid this year, completely different from Lothering. It was cool there, at least in the evenings. Her father would take all three of them out into the field and show them the constellations in the sky. They were a distant light, cold and yet welcoming.  
Though Hawke was hot for other reasons as well. The kiss ran through her mind still. Anders had… she smiled to her self and finished with her bath. She then slipped on a cloth shift and lied down on the bunk, and in mere seconds, she was asleep. 

………. 

Carver stumbled in early in the morning, long after the household had gone to sleep. Kestrel woke as soon as she heard the door creak open. She took the knife from under her mattress and silently stood. Slowly, she made her way to the door of her room, careful not to step on any loose, creaky floorboards. Hawke stopped short of the door way and pressed herself against the wall. The ‘intruder’ (or so she thought) was coming closer to her.  
She readied her blade in her hand, prepared to defend herself. The footsteps grew closer, now.  
‘For a thief,’ she thought, ‘He sure is loud.’ When she was sure the footsteps were right outside her door, she sprung around the corner and was prepared to lunge when she saw that it was Carver. He jumped back in surprise.  
“Andraste’s ass! If this is a joke to you, you’re sicker than I thought,” he whispered loudly.  
He slurred the ’s’es together. There was a definite tilt in his posture, and Kestrel noticed the red eyes and drooping lids.  
“You’re drunk,” she stated. It wasn’t unusual, in fact it happened quite often, but he usually stayed at the Hanged Man if he was this far gone. Carver’s judgement became clouded after about two drinks, on a normal night. How much had he drunk if he thought it was wise to stumble through lowtown at night, unarmed and alone?  
“Good eye! You should talk to Aveline about being a guard!” he rolled his eyes and pushed past her.  
“Carver…” Kestrel stood for a moment looking at where he stood. Then it struck her. she squinted her eyes and turned around, striding into the room, “Where’s Isabela? Mother said you were with her.”  
Carver always got this little shit-faced grin when he did something without Kestrel knowing or approving. He had it on right now, “She’s at the Hanged Man.” The smile didn’t disappear.  
“Carver. What did you do?” she pressed.  
“I,” he said with emphasis as he untied his boots, “had a good time,” he stood and pressed a finger into Kestrel’s sternum, “Without you,” the last word was biting.  
Kestrel’s face broke into a sly smirk, “Oh, let me guess. You and Isabela got together to drink and make jokes at my expense for not bringing you, and then…,”she made a grand gesture with her hands and wiggled her eyebrows.  
“And then what?” he said clumsily.  
“I’m not stupid, Carver. You and Isabela have been doing a lot of… flirting,” she said carefully.  
He looked dubiously at his sister and cocked his head to the side.  
“You could say this was a night of… bonding for you two,” Hawke wiggled her eyebrows again and smiled.  
Carver finally seemed to understand. His eyes grew wide and he exclaimed, “You’re vile!” He lowered his voice, “We’re just friends.”  
Hawke’s smirk grew wider and she raised her brows at him, “Oh, really? You’re definition of friendship is much different from mine, dear brother.”  
Carver frowned and turned away from her, pulling his shirt over his head. He threw it on the bed and turned back to Kestrel, “So I’m interested in the pirate, so what?” he muttered defensively.  
“Nothing! I just wouldn’t have imagined you would go for someone like her,” Kestrel said.  
“Like what Kestrel? Do you know me so well that you can tell me who I have feelings for?”  
Her eyes grew in surprise, “Carver! I’m only teasing!” she laughed, then more seriously she added, “You’re my little brother! If you are happy with Isabela I won’t stop you.”  
Carver narrowed his eyes and grunted. He turned away from her and plopped down onto the bed.  
“Good night, my dear brother!” Kestrel called playfully.  
He grunted again and she turned to her own bed and returned to her spot underneath the covers. He was always a difficult child.  
Her night was surprisingly restful; there ware no dreams that invaded her head and tore every neatly folded feeling and thought from their given places. When she woke, Kestrel was well-rested and refreshed. Carver, on the other hand, was miserable. He was still curled up on his bunk, but he had a pillow stuffed over his head to block out the light streaming throughout the holes in the ceiling. Hawke carefully stood and, like a ghost, glided through the doorway without a sound.  
Leandra was already awake, sitting by the fire once more and preparing a few pieces of toast for herself. Hawke noticed the heavy blue bags under her eyes; she hadn’t slept. With a small, imperceptible sigh, Kestrel crossed the room and took a small tin kettle from the pile and scooped up water so that it was about three quarters full. She had picked up a baggie of coffee grounds from the vendor who she sold her trinkets to. If only Varric and Anders could see the usefulness of her habit now.  
She grabbed a small piece of cloth and put the grounds in. Then strung the baggie through the hole in the cover so it was just barely submerged in the water. Hawke carried the kettle to the fire and knelt next to her mother. She set the kettle on the iron grate over the fire to percolate.  
Mother and daughter sat in silence for sometime. Eventually, the smell of burnt toast curled from the fire and hit Kestrel full-force. Her eyes began to water, but she fought back the cough that rose in her throat.  
“Mother… the toast,” she sputtered.  
Leandra turned to her daughter and stared blankly at her for a moment. She cocked her head to the side and then her eyes snapped wide open in realization. She gave a small exclamation and pulled the blackened bread from the grate.  
“Oh, damn,” she muttered, “I’ve never been very good at cooking dear, at least that’s one constant thing in my life.” Hawke inwardly groaned, this is what her mother did. She regurgitated old feelings and sought pity from all who approached her. she never used to be that way. At one time in the distant past, she had been a strong woman who Hawke could look up to. But, as she so often thought, the loss that had given her purpose and taught her to think before acting on emotion had destroyed her mother and turned her into an emotion driven being. Kestrel felt a twinge of pity for her mother, but she couldn’t condone Leandra’s weakness deep in her heart.  
Placatingly, she draped an arm across her mother’s shoulders and drew her to her side. Leandra was limp. Kestrel wracked her brain for something witty to say to escape the stifling mood that surrounded them.  
“At least we have coffee,” she tried. Her Mother sat back on her heels and looked her daughter over.  
“Where did you get coffee?” she asked. Here eyes were narrow and her nose and forehead were wrinkled.  
“I bought it,” Hawke hesitatingly replied. This usually happened; Leandra read into things too much, and she drew wild conclusions about how people were working against her and slighting her. It got to a point at which she would unload every problem on the person who pushed her over the brink.  
“You bought it? we haven’t had enough money to buy coffee since…,” she stopped short and tears blossomed in the corners of her eyes.  
“Since father died. I know this, that’s why when I saved up enough from my peddling I bought some… to cheer you up,” Hawke was uncharacteristically timid when faced with her mother. She knew her mother loved her, and she realized the sacrifices she made for the family, but Hawke detested this habit her mother had to turn her aggression toward her children. There was a wall that was erected between them. And Hawke tried to tear it down, brick-by-brick, but whenever this happened, the bricks kept piling up higher and higher.  
“And you didn’t tell me? What happened to sharing everything as a family!?” Leandra shouted.  
“Mother settle—,” Kestrel started.  
“Don’t tell me to settle down! Dammit! I know you hate me, but I am still your mother and I would think you would have enough faith in me to handle our finances. That’s how it’s always been, Kestrel.”  
“Mother, I do not hate you. Never have I said such a thing. I may grow irritated, from time to time, but I do not hate you,” Kestrel recited.  
“Why? What irritates you so much about me?”  
Kestrel froze. This question came up every time they spoke and she still didn’t have the heart to tell her mother why.  
“Nothing. I’m sorry,” she mumbled in response; Hawke had been defeated by her own mother.  
“What?” Leandra said.  
“Nothing,” she said louder. And now with a cold air of formality, “My apologies mother, if I have unknowingly offended, I apologize. Do forgive me.” She stood, “The next time I want to surprise every one with a bright and happy morning, I will be sure to ask first,” her voice was dripping with sarcasm.  
Leandra caught on to Kestrel’s mood and looked toward the fire again. The wall grew higher.  
“If you’ll excuse me, I promised a friend I would meet with them,” Kestrel said. She walked to the door of her room and nudged Carver.  
“Are you coming with me? We’re going to the alienage,” she said quietly. Carver moved the pillow aside and looked at his sister. He had been awake the whole time. He didn’t miss the redness around Kestrel’s eyes that betrayed her thoughts. He nodded.  
Kestrel strapped on her armor over a cotton tunic and fastened a cloak around her shoulders. It was going to be a hot day, but the cloak had enchantments that offered her more protection. She walked to the door and grabbed her staff. Carver had already strapped his sword to his back on top of his leather armor.  
He nodded again at her and they departed through the door.  
The journey to the alienage was short, but it held a heavy silence of understanding between the Hawke siblings. Caver understood as well as Kestrel their mother’s delicate temperament. It was one of the things that brought them closer together. All that needed to be said about the subject had been said long ago; there was no need to repeat it.  
So they walked on, all quarrels forgotten, for the moment.  
“So who is this friend in the alienage?” Carver asked as they neared their destination.  
“I picked her up on Sundermount about a week ago,” Kestrel said.  
“An elf from Sundermount? SO you were visiting the clan there?” he asked.  
Kestrel nodded and waited for him to work out the reason.  
“Well, what was your business? Was it with that old woman from Lothering?” he tried.  
Kestrel nodded and looked at him.  
“You know I got an odd feeling from her,” he said cautiously.  
Kestrel laughed i remembrance at the old woman, “She was certainly odd. But I don’t believe we’ll have to worry about her for a while, at least.”  
Carver looked at her with wide eyes, “Well? Are you going to tell me what happened?”  
So Kestrel launched into an account of her time on the mission. All the way through the Wounded Coast to the journey home. Carver listened. As much as he resented his sister for all her grandeur and glory-hogging qualities, he did respect her. But when she reached the part about Merrill’s chosen vocation, he froze.  
“Kestrel…,” he said angrily.  
“What?” she said in defense.  
“You brought a,” he started to say loudly, but he caught himself and pulled her aside, “You brought a blood mage into the city? What were you thinking?! If she gets caught it’ll come back to us and you’ll both be put in the Circle!”  
“Carver, she won’t get caught,” she rolled her eyes.  
“If this elf…,” he struggled for her name.  
“Merrill,” Kestrel supplied.  
He nodded, “was stupid enough to turn to blood magic, she could be stupid enough to get caught. It doesn’t take much, in this city. The templars will catch the slightest breeze of this and they’ll clap you both in irons before more than an house has passed. No trial, no questions, no mercy. You could be made tranquil!”  
Hawke was silent in surprise and blinked a few times at her brother, “What am I supposed to do? I told her she would always have a place with us in Kirkwall, I can’t very well just change my mind!”  
Carver sighed and leaned back against the wall of the alley they were in. He closed his eyes and said, “She’s either drop-dead gorgeous or no more than a child for you to be so stupid.”  
Hawke smirked, “Aww, you do know me,” she pushed at his shoulder playfully, “Come on the Keeper probably has her in a house by now. We can join in on the house warming party.”  
Carver laughed tiredly and rubbed his eyes. Together, they made their way to the alienage.  
They weren’t more than a block away when they heard shouting. Hawke broke into a run and whipped around the corner, Carver on her heels.  
What she saw made her stop dead in her tracks, “Hey!” she shouted. She sprinted into the fray and reached the center just in time to pull the dagger away from Merrill’s throat. Carver was beside her in an instant.  
“When you said that you brought an elf from clan Sabrae, Hawke, you didn’t tell me she was the First,” the Keeper said dangerously, “And you certainly failed to tell me she was a blood mage.”  
Carver sighed and threw his hands up, “Well, shit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I altered Leandra's character from the game to explain and complement Kestrel's behavior and attitude. Leandra represents what Hawke could have become and what she refuses to let her self be.


	6. Something New

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merrill remodels and shows off Dalish magic. A new interesting character arrives.

Hawke froze in her place. She couldn’t think her way out of this one. She began to panic and thought of the templars that would probably be on the way. This couldn’t be happening. Not now.   
She stuttered for a moment before springing into action. She turned her attention to Merrill, who was breathing heavily, “What happened?”   
The small elven woman looked at her with wide green eyes and gaped like a fish out of water, “I—I,” she tried. But another elven man sprung from the front lines of the crowd.   
“I’ll tell you what she did,” he snarled, “She was sleeping in our ha’hren’s home. It is an act of profound trust. And she slept and all was well,” he began, “And in the morning, when he tried to shake her awake, a DEMON appeared. And she controlled it!” he shouted. his loud words caused a tumult of angry voices to arise. People reached forward and grabbed at their clothes, Hawke pushed them away and was beginning to feel smothered.   
“No, no, no, no, no!” she thought.   
They were covering, piling higher and higher until a voice shouted out, “ENOUGH!” The Keeper parted the crowd and approached the center, where Hawke now stood. The voices of the crowd had been quelled, but they still leered at the three people.   
“Messere Hawke, for the safety of my people, she must be removed,” he pointed at Merrill and her eyes grew wide.   
“Ha’hren! I have no where else to go!” she cried. He gave her a sharp glare, as if her very words would cause a demon to spring from the earth.   
“You are a danger to this alienage,” he said again.   
“I can contro—“  
“No, da’len. If the events of this morning are any indication of your ability to control yourself, then you certainly cannot,” he turned to Hawke, “Messere, I have ensured that the templars have not been informed, but only by my own people,” he sighed, “Any one who wandered in will have spread the news of a commotion in the alienage. Either you must hide her, or you must remove this woman from the city.”  
Merrill looked terrified. Where could Hawke possibly take her? Her clan had all but rejected her, she certainly couldn’t stay with her, the Hanged Man had too much foot traffic, Anders’ clinic drew too much attention as it was, and Fenris’s mansion was not hospitable for a blood mage.   
“Keeper, please. I will watch her myself. She has no other place to go,” Kestrel pleaded.   
The keeper sighed, “Return to your homes!” he yelled. Grudgingly, the elves of the alienage complied and disappeared behind closed doors.   
“Come,” he motioned for them to follow. He led them through his own door and ushered them to a kitchen area. Kestrel sat in a chair across from the Keeper. Carver leaned in the doorway to the kitchen, and Merrill sat next to her.   
The Keeper pursed his lips before saying, “What am I to do, Hawke,” he shrugged, “She made a demon appear! If I let her stay, it could happen again.”  
Merrill shifted in her seat and Hawke looked at her. She was clenching her jaw and her forehead was wrinkled.   
“What is it Merrill?” Hawke probed.   
“It came to my defense. I was scared when you woke me up because I forgot where I was,” Merrill said meekly.   
The Keeper sighed again and scrubbed his hands over his face, “So what am I to do? Allow you a whole home, so you may live in solitude? What fairness is there in that?”  
“None,” Carver chimed in. Kestrel cast him a frustrated glance.   
“Carver…” she said.   
“What is it? Do you think with this many people there is a livable home that also happens to be vacant?” he waited in silence, “No? I didn’t think so.”  
Kestrel pressed on, “Are there any vacant lots? We can build.”  
“The only lot I have has been abandoned for years. Opening the door poses a risk to its integrity. Plus, it’s right on the square, she’d be in the middle of everything,” he said reluctantly.   
Kestrel perked up, “It’s better than nothing! I can rebuild myself!”  
“Kestrel! We need to make the money for the expedition!” Carver was indignant.   
“I know! It would only be a day!” she pleaded.   
The Keeper laughed and snorted, “Clearly you did not see it earlier,” he quieted down and looked at Hawke evenly before adding, “If you wish to do this, it will be on your own time. I can spare no resources.”  
“I understand, sir,” Hawke said. He nodded and rose.   
“Follow me,” he said. They stood and followed the Keeper through the door and skirted around the lingering crowd in the square. Merrill stayed close to Kestrel to avoid the malicious stares of the elves, but she drew them nonetheless. As they progressed, a profound silence spread through the square. However, just under the surface, a boiling hate threatened the present peace. If the Keeper weren’t there…   
The Keeper led them through a few back alleys that opened to another smaller square. Fewer elves milled about in the space. But there were signs of life. A few carefully tended window-boxes and swept front stoops, to name them. It was in worse condition than the main square, to be certain.   
“Here we are,” the Keeper interrupted her thoughts. Kestrel had to keep her jaw from stopping. The house hadn’t been lived in in years. The wood that passed for the walls and supports were faded and warped from the exposure. In some places, it had completely fallen away. The roof was patchy and there were countless holes. Hawke walked foreword and cautiously opened the door, scared that the structure would crumble to pieces.   
The door swung inward and this time, Hawke’s jaw did drop, “Maker’s breath,” she gasped. The inside was layered with dusty sediment at least an inch thick; just the act of opening the door caused a torrent of dirt to swirl from the floor and obscure her view. Sunlight spilled in through the glassless windows and open ceiling, and that was not the only thing that had spilled through. Leaves, dead insects, and other debris littered the empty space. At least they didn't worry about ruining the floor; it lay bare beneath her boots with no wooden slats like in the Keeper’s dwelling. There was much to do.   
“Well,” Carver said from behind her, “this should be fun.” He continued through the door and began to explore the home. Hawke slowly followed behind, taking stock of the surroundings.   
From the bowels of the home Carver called, “There’s a second floor!” but she noticed there was no sound of him going up stairs or a ladder. She strode through the room to Carver and almost began to laugh. There certainly was a second story to the hovel, but no means of getting there. The ruins of a rickety staircase lay on the floor.   
“We have… a lot to do,” he said with a heavy sigh.   
“Again, messere, you must know that I cannot help you,” the Keeper appeared behind them.   
“I understand, Keeper,” Merrill said from the room behind them, “I am grateful for the help you have already provided. The Keeper nodded to her and left the door. Once he had disappeared, the three listed the things they needed to do. First, they borrowed a broom from one of the old elven women and swept the floors and larger surfaces. Then, with a few bits of cloth from the bottom of Kestrel’s bag and a bit of water from an old rain barrel outside, they scrubbed the remaining dust from smaller areas. When that was finished, they were a bit lost.   
“We cant very well do anything else until we find materials to reconstruct,” Carver said tiredly.   
“I know. Perhaps we can—“  
“Kestrel, we don’t have the money to go and buy the glass for the windows or lumber!” he shouted. They stood there arguing and shouting at one another, but all the while Merrill stood and looked at the structure. The walls were wooden, natural. Not stone. She could work with that.   
She crossed to the wall and placed a small hand on one of the wooden boards. This would require a lot of mana. She allowed natural and spirit energy to flow through her fingertips and into the wood. A great time passed, but finally Merrill heard a loud series of pops and cracks. She felt the structure move and grow under her touch as the wood came back to life and set down roots. Kestrel and Carver stopped arguing behind her and stared in awe at the small elven woman.   
“What in the Maker’s name…,” Carver began.   
“Father told me stories of the Dalish magics, but I never thought they were real,” Kestrel said quietly. even as they spoke, the slats transformed into tall oaks and aspen trees whose branches wove together to form a roof over head. There were still wide openings in the ceiling, but leaves had sprouted and grown in those areas and, even while allowing light to enter, formed a blockade against the elements. Below their feet, grass sprouted from the dirt and transformed the dirt floor into a sort of carpet. Merrill was shaping the building to her will; she could command the energies of the plants to focus on certain points and grow, and even create life where there was none.   
Behind them, a louder crack sounded and they turned. again, Kestrel almost laughed. Merrill had willed the trees to grow sideways and create a stair case to the loft above them. a few moments longer and Hawke saw the space as more of a forest rather than a home in Kirkwall’s alienage.   
Finally, the sounds stopped and Merrill whimpered behind them; she had fallen to her knees and was slumped against the wall. Kestrel rushed over to her and procured a Lyrium potion from her belt. Tilting the woman’s head back, she poured the potion down her throat until the vial was dry. Merrill moaned and blinked a few times before leaning foreword and putting her head in her hands.   
“Merrill, that was… incredible!” Kestrel said in astonishment. The other woman gave a weak smile. Her eyes were tired and dull, unlike how they usually were.   
Kestrel chuckled, “Maker, it’s like being back in the Brecilian!” The canopy above her head cast green shadows that danced on the floor and walls, well trunks. It was incredibly soothing.   
But then Carver had to ruin it, “This is wonderful and all, but don't you think the Templars will realize if there’s a small forest in the middle of Kirkwall’s alienage?”  
Merrill blanched and stood suddenly. She teetered on her feet for a moment, but then she strode through the door. After sharing a look, the siblings followed her through and looked at the face of the building. Merrill crossed her arms over her chest proudly and raised her eyebrows.   
The outside looked completely normal. The slats on the side of the building looked new and fitted together. The windows were gone, and the roof looked unfinished with its large holes and moss. Yet another mystery of Dalish magic.   
“How—,” Kestrel failed to find the words. She was completely at a loss as to what kind of magic this was.   
“Dalish magic. Alteration wards that conceal objects to outsiders,” Merrill said cockily, “Don’t worry about me, Hawkes. I can take care of myself perfectly well.” Squaring off her shoulders, Merrill marched away into the home, but she stopped long enough in the door way to say farewell to her friends.   
Carver and Kestrel walked back through the alienage and stopped to inform the Keeper that they had finished and were now leaving. He looked a little shocked, but he nodded and wished them luck. Lowtown was bustling with merchants and runners and refugees. All shady characters had come out to play.  
The two decide they needed to take on more work, so they headed to the Hanged Man to pick a few jobs from the travelers that didn't know the area and had money to spare. The place was rather busy and Nora, the waitress, barely noticed them as they entered. Hawke nodded and began to make her way to the bar and sat next to Isabela.   
Kestrel called for a drink and looked to the sultry pirate next to her, “Anything good tonight, O Captain my Captain?”   
Isabela looked hazily at her and laughed, “My dear friend, this is the Hanged Man!” She looked like she was about to burst into song, for some reason and Hawke patted her on the shoulder and decided to make her own rounds. There was nothing out of the ordinary. By that she meant that the normal crowd of drunkards and mercenaries.   
But she noticed something in the the far corner of the room. A woman sat in the far corner in the shadows. a deep green hood was drawn tightly around her head, but Kestrel saw the pucker in the cloth that spoke of pointed ears. She had never seen this stranger before, and she seemed to observant to be up to anything good.   
Taking a swig of her drink, Kestrel stumbled to the back table and plopped down next to the woman.   
“Weeeellll,” she drawled, “Your new! Can I get you anything?” Hawke wasn’t interested in women, but she was able to put up the facade to get information from people.   
“No, please I prefer solitude,” the elven woman said. Under the hood, she saw dark, tanned skin marked with lyrium-blue tattoos. So she was Dalish. But from which clan? she did not remember her from Merrill’s clan.   
“Are you suuuuuure?” Kestrel made sure the other woman smelled the alcohol on her breath.   
With a snarl, the elven woman said, “Yes I am certain.” The dim light caught her eyes. They were a stunning lavender grey and almost seemed luminescent.   
“You’re such a killjoy, my dear,” Kestrel fluttered her eyelashes, “At least tell me where you're from?” The woman sighed and drew a knife from her boot and slammed it into the table near Hawke’s elbow. A few people around them looked, but deemed it normal for this part of town and turned away.   
“Do you think I’m stupid?” she asked, “I saw you walk in. In fact, you come here almost every night.”  
Kestrel smiled. She knew there was more to her than met the eye. Kestrel let a flame spark to life in her hand, just long enough for the woman to notice.   
“I’m not the kind of person that looks to draw attention. As it happens, I am here to get some funding. If you have any work for me or want to join…”  
“Thank you, but my clan needs me,” she snorted.   
“Then why are you here…” Hawke waited for a name.   
The woman shook her head and scoffed, “No. I’m not interested. I have business of my own, here.”   
“Certainly, you could pick up a few tips about the area?”she tried.   
The elf looked at her darkly and a primal fear rose in Hawke. Like very in the face of its predator, “I said no.”  
Kestrel shrugged, “Very well, your loss.” She pushed herself away from the table and retreated to the bar where Carver sat.   
“You see that elf in the corner?” she didn't gesture, but Carver looked at the woman as he pretended to call Nora over to him to order a bowl of the mystery stew.  
“What about her?”   
“I don’t like her. She seems suspicious,” Kestrel mumbled.   
“So, what? You want to follow her?” he asked.   
“Once she leaves I think, yeah,” Kestrel said after another mouthful of whiskey. They would have to wait, and wait they did. For quite some time, too. The woman stayed in her corner nursing the same drink until long after the crowd had thinned to the usual louses. Then, she rose, quiet as a shadow, and walked past the table where Carver, Kestrel, Varric, and Isabela were playing Wicked Grace. She had retreated through the front door, and Kestrel elbowed Carver in the side.   
“Ow! What?” he grumbled, rubbing the sore spot. Quietly, Hawke stood and said goodbye to the other two. Then, she glided toward the door and into the night.   
The woman was ahead of her. Hawke could barely hear the slap of her bare feet on the stone. Keeping to the shadows, Kestrel followed the woman through alleys and tunnels in an elaborate path where not the ballsiest mess would care to stake out a wanderer.   
After some time, the woman stopped and knocked on a door it opened and out slipped a mabari… no it wasn't a mabari… it was a wolf! A great black wolf with gleaming red eyes. Quietly closed the door and continued through the alley. But, when Hawke passed in front of the house, it was devoid of life.   
Whoever this woman was, she was no good. Again, the woman wove elaborate patterns through the back alleys of Lowtown. Eventually, she can upon clearing and stopped. Across from the elf was a man. He wore light armor and a heavy cloak, which boasted tell tale signs of hidden weapons.   
Words were exchanged in Dalish, but Kestrel caught the tone of business.   
The man tossed her a scroll in return for her small coin pouch and laughed before saying in Common, “Ah, it is always a pleasure to do business with the famed Captain of the Elgar’at. Go in peace, Danerys of Clan Lavellan.”


	7. Lavellan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet the future Inquisitor.

Hawke had slunk home after she learned the name of the mystery woman. There was still a soft light seeping through the windows of the hovel when she made it to the front stairs. She eased the door gently open, just enough for her to slip through and close it again without the inevitable creak. Leandra sat in front of the fire darning a pile of Uncle Gamlen’s cotton socks. She had bags under her eyes, but Hawke did not feel like striking up a conversation with her mother. 

Without so much as a nod, Kestrel slipped past her mother and embarked on er nightly ritual before going to sleep. As she splashed the lukewarm rainwater on her face and scrubbed herself clean with a wet cloth, Kestrel thought of the exotic elven woman. What in all of Thedas was the Elgar’at? She certainly had never heard of the faction. Perhaps Merrill would know, seeing as it sounded like a Dalish phrase. 

The woman, Danerys, struck a chord with Hawke. She seemed like a threat to her, but then again, would she not have already had plenty of opportunity to pounce? She would have to find out more on this elven enigma tomorrow, for she was beyond the point at which another self-respecting individual would have collapsed into a deep sleep. 

But, she did not want to sleep. Kestrel stood in a cotton shift staring at her scratchy, hay-stuffed mattress and sighed. There would be dreams. Dreams, dreams, dreams to the end of her days. No, she did not want to sleep and relive the horrors that seemed to permeate her entire life. Kestrel Hawke lay awake on her bunk for hours. 

She thought to herself, “Andraste’s ass, I wont be able to function if I cant sleep. If I can’t function, I can’t make money. And it I can’t make money, there’ll be no expedition, and then we’ll be stuck here forever.” She shook her head and scolded herself for being so selfish, she couldn’t be scared. She didn’t have the time. 

At long last, sleep took her, and she dreamt of the same things she always had, but this time she did not wake up in a cold sweat. Not to say she wasn’t glad when dawn broke through the din of the room. She eased herself off the bed and strapped on her armor. Carver woke soon after her and met Kestrel in the living room. The older of the Hawke siblings stood in front of the fire staring at a note left in Leandra’s chair and blamed a cup of coffee. She looked up at Carver with an arched eyebrow and beckoned him toward her. 

“Mother said she’s at the market…,” she muttered. She gave a short, breathy chuckle. 

“And? What’s wrong with that?” Carver asked. 

“Oh, nothing. but if this means what i think it means, then perhaps we’ll be seeing more of the Leandra Hawke we know and love.”

“What?”

“She mad e coffee for us, even after yesterday’s fight. Probably her own odd way of apologizing,” she smirked, “Plus, she’s left the house for the first time in weeks! If this keeps up then…”  
“She won’t ever be the way she was before…. you know, Kestrel.”

“I know, but there’s no harm in hoping.”

 

…….

 

The weeks that followed were filled with odd jobs and tasks with the guard to get a bit of coin for the expedition. There was a short trip to the Wounded Coast to deal with some Tal-Vashoth and retrieve the Viscount’s son, which led to a hefty sum of gold. In these short weeks, they had gotten the last of the 50 sovereigns they needed. Now, all they needed was to nail down the details. 

At present, Hawke sat in Varric’s apartment, if it could be called that, in the back of the Hanged Man. The fire roared in the fireplace as their party listened to Varric give the rundown of what they needed to so. 

“So, we have the map, money, workers, and supplies. On the downside—“ he began. 

“Only two more of you can come. And, as much I know you won’t like it, Anders,” Kestrel sighed reluctantly, “have your Warden abilities in the Deep Roads will be incredibly useful.”

Anders leaned forward and put his head in his hands, “This could go very, very wrong, if I went. The taint is a two way street, you know. They can sense me, on some level — a much lower one, just like I can sense them.”

“I know. And I wish you didn’t have to come, but… we need you, Anders. there’s no way around it,” she answered. 

“Then that leaves one more person. I’m guessing a warrior would be rather useful,” Varric chimed in. 

“Aveline, you have duties with the guard; I don’t want to take you away from them. Fenris, if Anders is going, I don’t want you two bickering for two weeks. That leaves,” Kestrel swallowed, but remained impassive, “Carver. I know mother won’t like it, but we need your muscle and blade. And I’d like you to be with me for this. So, it would seem this is settled.”

“Very well, Bertrand and I decided we will depart in four days, just enough time to get the last of the supplies put together,” Varric let out a disbelieving laugh, “Maker’s balls this is finally happening!” 

They laughed and told stories for a while before adjourning to the main area of the bar to take a seat at their customary Wicked   
Grace table. Kestrel played a few hands, but then decided she should save the last of her dignity for a rainy day. She was content to sit back and watch. 

Time rolled along as the tide of patrons eased out once more. And there she was, the elf. With a smile , Kestrel excused herself and moved to the corner table and sat herself down across from Danerys Lavellan, Captain of the Elgar’at. 

The woman fixed Hawke with an icy glare and snarled, “You again, I thought I told you to leave me alone,” steel flashed from her hip as she shifted her cloak. 

“I could never stay away from you,” she paused for effect, “Danerys.”

If she was surprised, she did not show it. Her features were unchanged by the reveal of her identity. 

“It was you,” she said uncharacteristically quietly, “That night a few weeks ago in the alley. I thought it was just some dog or robber. I was only going to attack if you attacked me, but I thought—“

“That you lost me? Oh captain, my captain. You may be good, but I am better.”

Her mouth quirked, “Oh? Odd, I’ve been sitting at this table every two weeks for the better part of a year and you’ve only just noticed me…,” she leaned in, “So, don’t think you can gauge me so easily, Kestrel.”

Now it was Hawke’s turn to remain stoic. 

“So, what exactly is the Elgar’at? I’ve been curious,” she put her chin on her palm and let it rest there.

“Like I’m going to tel you, shem.”

“Alright, then tell me what your doing in my city,” she grew serious, “i find it in my best interest — as well as yours— to share at least this.”

“Fine,” she bit out, “I deal in information. I am the shadow, the right hand, and the doer of things no-one else will do. I will kill to reach my goal and I can topple entire regimes at a whim just by removing a single piece,” she bared her teeth in some mockery of a grin, “I am your city’s worst nightmare.”

“Which regimes do you wish to topple?” Kestrel inquired. 

“Slavers, Tevinters, smugglers. Whatever protects the best interests of my clan,” she leaned back in the booth, “Are our interests similar, Kestrel?”

“It’s Hawke. And I believe they are, as long as that list does not extend to the city itself,” she studied the other woman, “Okay, I have to ask. What’s with the wolf?”

She chuckled, “You have your companions and I have mine, Hawke,” she had completely evaded the question, “You may call me Dany. If our paths should cross, you will find no enemy in me.”

“Very well, Danerys,” Hawke replied. She stood and wove through the crowd of patrons. When she sat again at the table Varric eyed her questioningly. 

“What was all that about?” he asked. 

“Me? Oh I’m just making friends, Varric. Nothing to worry about,” Kestrel said. But in her own code, she said, “Ill tell you   
about it later.” The night progressed and Hawke ended up in a rather sorry state. The card game they played ended up turning into a drinking game and she was loosing badly. She drank her way through an entire bottle, and after she began to sing old songs from Ferelden, Anders cut her off. 

“Okay, Hawke I think thats enough, I’m not mixing you a whole other potion for your hangover,” he said jokingly. Hawke stood and wavered. She tried to stumble to the door, but she got caught up in her own feet and fell into Anders’ chest. 

“Aaaaaanderrrrrsss, you’re in my waaaay,” she whined. Anders laughed at her and she felt his chest shake, leading to her own bursts of laughter. 

“Come on, I’ll walk you home,” he said. 

“Home? We still have cards to play!” 

“Kestrel, Varric and Isabela are the only ones still here,” he chuckled. Wrapping an arm around her waist, he allowed Kestrel to lean against him for support. She was flush against him and her hands wandered even before they left the tavern. 

They walked through Lowtown on the way to Gamlen’s house, but Hawke stopped. 

“I don't want to go back there,” she said with a furrowed brow. She simply had no desire to sleep in that scratchy bed, and none at all to wake up to all the bustle. 

Anders eyed her, “Well then, where do you want to go?” He watched as she turned toward him and stared into his eyes. They fluttered and she tilted toward him. He could smell the alcohol on her breath as she brushed her lips against his and said,

“With you.”

He blinked. Perhaps he hadn't heard her correctly? Not that he wasn’t pleased, but he thought she deserved better than him… In any case he couldn't do this with her in this state. She could barely walk home on her own; she couldn’t make clear decisions right now. 

He leaned back and replaced his arm around her waist, “Fine, but nothing is happening.”

“You’re no fun, Anders,” she pouted. 

He smiled, he cared for her and would do anything for her. However, he wanted anything that could happen to occur the they both were in their right minds. 

“I know,” he kissed her fore head and led her to the clinic. By then, she had been reduced to a giggling mess, pooled on his   
own bed. He carefully removed her leather boots and armor, leaving her in long, cotton underclothes. Again, he kissed her forehead and pulled the blankets over her. Then, he retired to the main room of the clinic for the evening.


End file.
